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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967828">I love you, man!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs'>SassyEggs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Under Construction [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:14:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967828</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh those three little words</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Under Construction [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/287276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>111</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I love you, man!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In her mind’s eye, the cake was perfect-- a three-layer confection covered in smooth satin frosting, a few delicate flowers for decoration.  Small, of course, since it was just the two of them, but still an elegant token of her affection, a special little thing that said <em> I missed you </em> in more ways than words could.  </p>
<p>In her <em> actual </em>eyes, though, the cake was nonexistent, and in its stead was a heap of dirty dishes that even the substantial farmhouse sink couldn’t fully contain.  </p>
<p>She should have known it was a bad idea as soon as she’d started.  It had taken no less than three bowls just for the batter since each one she tried was too small to properly mix.  Another bowl for the frosting, 3 spoons, 2 spatulas, both measuring cups, a whisk that was quickly abandoned for a mixer, the blender for pureeing strawberries… every added ingredient meant one more thing to clean.  </p>
<p>Worse was that she had forgotten to grease the pans-- or maybe her measurements were off, or maybe she hadn’t waited long enough for the cakes to cool-- because they came out all gloopy and weird and just sort of crumbled all over the counter when she tried to frost them.  She’d been so disappointed and frankly disgusted about her mess-up that she’d simply walked away from the carnage.  </p>
<p>No matter.  She’d clean it up first thing in the morning, and no one would ever be the wiser.  </p>
<p>Sandor would be back tomorrow, and Sansa couldn’t wait to see him.  One week he’d been gone, seven excruciating days, and with the semester over and holidays approaching she’d had nothing else to do but hang around his place and miss him like crazy.  Tomorrow the wait would be over, though, because he’d finally be home.  </p>
<p>
  <em> Home. </em>
</p>
<p>She sighed; pressed a hand to her heart.  The very idea of him coming <em> home </em> to her had her positively giddy though the truth was, she wasn’t even supposed to be there.  She didn’t think it would bother him, <em> per se </em>, but.... she hadn’t exactly asked, either.</p>
<p>The idea hit her when she found Bronn in her kitchen, sharing a plate of eggs with Margaery.  He’d been there a few days at that point, and with Sandor out of town that meant their house was sitting empty.  </p>
<p>“Hey, you know… I could swing by your place,” she’d volunteered as if she was doing him a favor.  “Make sure everything is okay.  If you want.”</p>
<p>Margaery had full on laughed at Sansa’s overly-nonchalant offer but Bronn wisely didn’t question it, just took the house-key off his keyring and slid it to her over the table with a look like he knew exactly what she was up to.</p>
<p>That was 6 days ago. She’d been hanging around his house ever since.</p>
<p>She talked to him every night, of course, but never brought up that she was chilling in his living room whenever they spoke-- not because she thought he would mind but because he might wonder what it meant.  And she wasn’t ready to think about what it meant, what it <em> might </em>mean.  They’d only been together for twelve weeks; it was just too soon.    </p>
<p>And yet her feelings were so strong.  And not just the depth but the variety as well.  She had no idea she could feel so many ways about a person, a big wide array of feelings from sunshiny warmth when she was with him to aching despair when she wasn’t, and every single possible emotion in between.  He could make her angry, sure.  But most of the time she wanted to roll him up real tiny and tuck him deep inside, right next to her heart, and she could keep him safe and he would always feel…</p>
<p>Feel <em> what </em>, exactly?  She shook the thought away.  It was too soon.  </p>
<p>Sansa finished brushing her teeth and moving the myriad pillows from his bed to the floor before settling in under the covers.  She would make the bed in the morning, tidy up the kitchen, remove all her belongings, then skedaddle.  He never ever had to know.  </p>
<p>It was on that happy thought that she drifted off to sleep.</p>
<p>“What are you <em> doing </em>here, little bird?”</p>
<p>For a woman as cautious as she was, with as many plans as she had, she never thought things could go so quickly awry.  Never thought she would be bolting upright from a dead sleep to blink at him in near-total darkness, fully aware of the scent and sense of him. </p>
<p>Ohhh... shit, he was home already.  </p>
<p>“Welcome home,” she wheezed, bizarrely high, hoping by being sweet he’d forget that he’d just busted her for breaking and entering.  “I missed you!”</p>
<p>“You did?  Is that why you destroyed my kitchen?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Shit! </em>
</p>
<p>“I was gonna clean it up, I swear.”</p>
<p>A long, sleepy exhale was his only response, and then complete stillness.  She wished he would say something to let her know it was okay, or laugh or grunt or hug her or anything at all, but he gave her nothing.  It was starting to make her feel especially stupid and presumptious.  She really should have asked him, shouldn’t have just assumed.  All she could do at that point was hope he didn’t notice she was...</p>
<p>“Are you wearing my shirt?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” she whimpered, sliding under the covers to escape him.  And this time he <em> did </em>laugh, did reach for her, layed a heavy hand reassuringly on her hip when he said-</p>
<p>“Stop, bird.  I don’t mind coming home to you in my bed.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Home. </em>
</p>
<p>It wasn’t hard after that to slip into the same comfort she’d always known with him, to find him in the darkness and show him all the many ways she’d missed him.  And he welcomed it all, let her pull his shirt off and unzip his jeans, let her kiss every bit of his body she wanted from his lips to his neck to his stomach and hip bones before finally taking him into her mouth.   </p>
<p>She’d never known that sex could make her feel good, had always thought of it as a man’s game that women learned to play.  But when she was with him she felt strong, and not just because of the way she made him feel but in the way she made herself feel.  Getting him hard, getting him off… it made her feel good.  <em> Really </em>good.  She’d never known it was even possible to be so happy making someone else happy, but this thing with him… in this moment he was all hers, and she was all his, and for just a while this connection she created with him was all she needed. </p>
<p>And she knew what it meant, even if she refused to say it.  <em> ‘It's’ too soon!’ </em> her brain shrieked, but it was all over for her.  She may as well be scrawling “Mrs Sansa Clegane” onto her middle school Trapper Keeper, though she seriously doubted middle schoolers licked and sucked their boyfriends like this.  God, he was <em> so </em>hard. </p>
<p>“I want you to come for me,” she told him, and teased just the tip of him with her tongue.  </p>
<p>“Come here, then,” he countered, the hands in her hair tugging upwards.  Honestly, she could have gone a little longer-- would have <em> liked </em>to go a little longer.  But if he was as close as she thought he was then then she’d have to hurry this up.  Quickly she undressed, slipped her panties off in the most seductive way possible and went up on her knees so he could fully see her when she took her shirt off. </p>
<p>“Come <em> here </em> ,” he growled again, more insistent this time, and pulled her in to kiss her breasts, to tease her nipples with his teeth and tongue almost to the point of distraction.  She could have done <em> that </em>for a little longer too, but the more he did it the more she needed from him.     </p>
<p>“I missed you,” she told him again, and guided him inside her.  </p>
<p>This was her favorite part, and not just because it felt good- <em> lots </em> of things he did felt good- but because of the sound he made, that crazy combination of groan and whimper, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry in relief or celebrate his good fortune.  He matched her pace; or she matched his.  She couldn't even say, really, cause it seemed like they just synced up.  Always.  </p>
<p>
  <em> Always. </em>
</p>
<p>“I could do this forever,” he rasped from beneath.</p>
<p>“You always say that but you <em> never </em>mean it.”</p>
<p>He laughed then, deep and lazy as the churn of her hips.  But the word was there… <em> forever… </em> That sure sounded important, like it meant something so so close to what she was already feeling.  <em> He </em>was so so close, too, she could tell, knew any second he would lose control, knew it from the way he was moving, the way he let his eyes close, the way he squeezed her thighs.  </p>
<p>“Ahh Sansa,” he groaned; he was <em> so </em> close.  “Sansa.  I love…”</p>
<p>She froze.  </p>
<p>He froze.  </p>
<p><em> Everything </em> froze at those <strike> three</strike> two little words, the entire universe plunged into utter stillness.  Oh god, but she couldn’t <em> breathe! </em>   In her heart it felt like she’d <em> always </em> loved him, somehow knew it even before she met him.  And she’d longed to say it, longed to hear it, that beautiful, bright, precious word, and there it was, floating between them, pulsing and impossible to ignore because... he loved.  He <em> loved!   </em></p>
<p>“Sandor…”</p>
<p>In a flash she was on her back and he was over her, and suddenly it was all about him and what he wanted, like she was an afterthought only along for the ride.  And boy what a ride it was-- hard and fast and desperate, an almost <em> thoughtless </em> pounding as if it were nothing, as if she was anyone.  <em> He </em>could be anyone, the usual connection she felt utterly missing and the loss of it had her wanting to cry.  </p>
<p>She’d been right that he was close.  When it was over there was no lingering, no kiss to her forehead, no nothing.  He just rolled off of her as soon as he was done and grabbed the remote with an exaggerated sigh, leaving her naked and lonely on the far side of the bed.  Deserted.  She felt like she’d been hit by a bus-- a <em> pleasurable </em>bus, sure, but still a bus.  What the hell was that?  </p>
<p>“I was thinking,” he rasped nonchalantly, eyes on the TV as he flipped through channels.  “Tomorrow is supposed to be sunny.  Might be fun to hike up the mountain.  You can come if you want.”  </p>
<p>
  <em> If I want? </em>
</p>
<p>All she could do was stare, her stomach churning along with her thoughts.  How could he say... <em> that... </em> then act like <em> this? </em>  Had he not meant it? Or not meant what she thought he meant?   Maybe it was just the sex he enjoyed and he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.  Why else would he be so suddenly distant?  How else could he make her feel so used and discarded while he flipped through channels like he didn’t care if she stayed?</p>
<p>And still she stared, watched him flip the channels on a commercial break, watched him stifle a sleepy yawn, watched him for signs that he might still want her there.  </p>
<p>She watched him till the moment of surrender, and his eyes slid over <em> to </em> her but not <em> at </em>her.  </p>
<p>“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbled, defeated.  </p>
<p>It was the closest she was going to get to a confession, she knew that.  And she knew he meant it, knew <em> what </em>he meant, knew it by the way his heart was thumping out of his chest like he’d just been busted for something he wasn’t ready to share.  And for a moment she wanted to soothe him, to not make a big deal out of it like he asked, to put her hand on his chest and say she understood.   </p>
<p>“I’ll make a big deal out of it if I <em> want </em>to,” she said instead, and punched him in the arm.</p>
<p>He clenched his jaw; looked away.  </p>
<p>“And... hiking sounds good,” she continued as if that was all they were ever talking about. “And…”</p>
<p>Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?   She swallowed hard, surprised by her nervousness.  It shouldn’t be so difficult to say it, shouldn’t be so scary, though scared is definitely what she was feeling.  So she tried to be brave-- because he <em> needed </em>her to be brave-- by pulling his arm around her, nestling up close to him so he couldn't see her when she said- </p>
<p>“And I love, too.”</p>
<p>It was a different kind of stillness then, the kind that it used to be.  Nothing awkward or questionable.  And nothing unspoken.  Just a hand resting heavily but gently on her hip telling her that everything was fine, even as silence punctuated the end of their conversation.  </p>
<p>“You wanna know what <em> I </em>was thinking?” she asked playfully; he was noticeably relieved at her tone.</p>
<p>“What?” </p>
<p>“I was thinking maybe I would try to make a pot roast.”</p>
<p>“A <em> pot roast? </em>  Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“You don’t think I can do it?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I know you can do it, I just don’t know if I deserve it.”</p>
<p>She couldn’t help but laugh at that-- at his unwavering support for things in which she had zero proven ability.  It was one of the many, many things she loved about him.  And she <em> did </em>love him.  So very much. </p>
<p>“Of course you deserve it,” she said, and snuggled closer.  “I love you, Sandor.”</p>
<p><em> Mine, </em> she thought, a hand over his heart.  <em> Mine. </em>  He didn't have to say it back. She didn’t know if he was truly ready to say it anyway, and she didn’t mind waiting.  But then the silence was broken by the crack of his smile, and he dropped a kiss on the top of her head and whispered-  </p>
<p>“I love you, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If anyone reads this... is the T rating okay?  I never know how to rate these things.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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